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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24541276">Domestic Harmonies 4: The Library (All Sorted)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak'>Mizmak</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Domestic Harmonies [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Short &amp; Sweet, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), soft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 11:07:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,959</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24541276</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 4 of an 8-part slice-of-life series where an angel and a demon learn how to live together.  In the library, Aziraphale takes issue with a few of Crowley's sloppier habits.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Domestic Harmonies [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762777</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Domestic Harmonies 4: The Library (All Sorted)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>          The second bedroom in their South Downs cottage had been converted into a library and study, with bookcase lined walls, a desk for Aziraphale, and a chaise for Crowley to sprawl on.</p>
<p>          Two thousand of the angel’s favorite books were crammed into the cases, while a single short shelf on top of one contained the few items which Crowley claimed as his own:  an encyclopedic tome on herpetology, a stack of magazines aimed at classic car enthusiasts, The Extremely Big Book of Astronomy, and Houseplants for Demons. </p>
<p>          No, that wasn’t the real title.</p>
<p>          Crowley had crossed out <em>Dummies</em> with a fat black marker, and penned in <em>Demons</em> above it with a fat red marker. </p>
<p>          Aziraphale shivered whenever he saw the cover.  <em>Defacing</em> a book, even an ordinary, uncollectible, and rather silly book, was a heinous act, and he had made it quite clear during the move to the cottage that it was never to be countenanced among <em>his</em> collection.</p>
<p>          “Why would I even pick <em>up</em> one of your precious tomes,” Crowley had said, “let alone write all over it?”</p>
<p>          “I simply wish to be clear on the matter,” Aziraphale had replied.  “If we are going to live together successfully, there have to be <em>rules</em>.”</p>
<p>          “Rules.” </p>
<p>          There had been a decided note of displeasure in the way Crowley spoke the word. </p>
<p>          “Well, yes.  Agreed-upon rules, naturally.”</p>
<p>          “Right.  I’ve got one.”</p>
<p>          “Yes?”</p>
<p>          “Rule Number One:  <em>we don’t need any blasted rules</em>.”</p>
<p>          Aziraphale had decided to let the matter drop that day.</p>
<p>          Now, however, a week later, he sat in the library room, pondering how to broach the topic again.</p>
<p>          He had transported his desk and favorite armchair from the bookshop to the cottage, and he sat there, with a cup of cocoa. </p>
<p>          Crowley lounged on the chaise, which was perfectly fine.  He was flipping through one his classic car magazines, which was also perfectly fine. </p>
<p>          What wasn’t exactly perfectly fine was the small plate of chocolate biscuits sitting on his lap, from which he was nibbling without paying any attention whatsoever to where the crumbs wound up.</p>
<p>          Which was mostly on the chaise and the floor.</p>
<p>          <em>Oh, dear</em>.</p>
<p>          Aziraphale coughed the little cough which indicated that he had Something Important To Say.</p>
<p>          Crowley lowered the magazine, gazing over the top.  He never wore his sunglasses inside the cottage, so his yellow, black-slitted eyes were quite clear, and in this case, quite puzzled as he raised a singular eyebrow.  “Frog in your throat, Angel?”</p>
<p>          “Don’t be ridiculous.  I was attempting to attract your attention.”</p>
<p>          “Attempt accomplished.”  Crowley smiled.  “Something you want?”</p>
<p>           He was in a flippant mood, Aziraphale could tell.  This might take some diplomacy on his part.  “Yes.  I wondered if perhaps you might like to have a small end table next to the chaise.  To set things down on.”</p>
<p>          Crowley looked at the plate of biscuits.  “Like this plate, perhaps?”</p>
<p>          “Precisely.  And I thought you might like a little wooden serviette holder to put on the end table.”</p>
<p>          “Hm.”  Crowley picked up a biscuit and bit down.  A fine spray of crumbs landed on his lap.  He brushed them off onto the floor.  “Perhaps I’d like one of those robot vacuum cleaner thingies instead.”</p>
<p>          Aziraphale winced.  So much for diplomacy.  “Now you are being deliberately difficult, my dear.  Is it really too much to ask?  Common manners, a bit of courtesy?  This is our <em>home</em>.  We ought to keep it neat and clean and tidy.”</p>
<p>          Crowley crunched through the rest of the biscuit, then brushed more crumbs off his hands by rubbing them together.  “Neat and tidy.”</p>
<p>          “And <em>clean</em>.”</p>
<p>          “Right.  Got it.”  He snapped his fingers, and all of the crumbs on the chaise and the floor vanished.  “Happy?”</p>
<p>          Aziraphale felt a pout coming on.  “That isn’t the point.”</p>
<p>          “Don’t see why not.  Look, <em>humans</em> have to clean things, Angel.  We don’t.  I haven’t cleaned a room by using actual manual effort in six thousand years—what makes you think I’m going to start now?  We don’t <em>have</em> to.”</p>
<p>          “True.  But there is a difference between cleaning up dust or stains or other inadvertent mess with a snap of the fingers, and <em>creating</em> a mess in the first place that you didn’t <em>need</em> to create at all.”</p>
<p>          “There is?”</p>
<p>          “Yes!”  For heaven’s sake, why couldn’t Crowley understand?  “I don’t care if you can miracle away the crumbs—you shouldn’t have spewed crumbs all over <em>our home</em> at all!”</p>
<p>          Then he pouted.  And crossed his arms for added emphasis.</p>
<p>          Crowley stared at the now-empty plate on his lap.  “No crumbs?”</p>
<p>          “Correct!  You weren’t raised in a barn, Crowley.”</p>
<p>          “Hell is full of crumbs, Angel.”</p>
<p>          “Not an excuse.  You haven’t lived in Hell for the past six thousand years.”</p>
<p>          “Yeah….point taken.”  Crowley snapped his fingers, and an end table appeared beside the chaise, on top of which stood a serviette holder.  He set the plate on the table.  “Better?”</p>
<p>          Aziraphale’s pout duly faded away.  “Thank you.”</p>
<p>          Then he glanced at Crowley’s feet. </p>
<p>          Shoes.  On the chaise.  And he’d been in the garden earlier that day, and clearly hadn’t wiped his shoes off on the mat before coming inside, or snapped them clean.  He looked at the Aubusson area rug, and spotted at least three dirt streaks, spaced just about the length of one demonic stride apart.</p>
<p>          With a sigh, Aziraphale said, “Now that we have the crumbs sorted, there’s something else I’d like to discuss.”</p>
<p>          Crowley followed his gaze.  “Oops.”</p>
<p>          Well, at least he recognized his guilt this time.  “I never realized, before we moved in together, that you had somewhat lax housekeeping standards, my dear.  You always appeared so elegant, and your flat, the few times I saw it, anyway, was pristine.”</p>
<p>          With another snap of his fingers, Crowley cleaned the soles of his shoes, and made the rug stains disappear.  “Not that hard to do.”</p>
<p>          “Indeed.  <em>After</em> the fact.  That must be the only times I ever saw you, or your living places—<em>after</em> you snapped things into order.”</p>
<p>          “Are you saying that <em>you</em> always look perfect all of the time without any angelic miracles?”</p>
<p>          Aziraphale did, indeed, rather pride himself on how much care he took about his appearance, and how well he cared for his clothes, and his books, and all of his belongings. </p>
<p>          Pride, of course, was a sin. </p>
<p>          He felt it anyway.  “Yes, that is what I am saying.”</p>
<p>          “Huh.”</p>
<p>          “You might try it.  All it takes is <em>thinking</em> about what you are doing before you do it.”</p>
<p>          Crowley shrugged.  “Not my strong suit, Angel.”</p>
<p>          Aziraphale had, of course, noticed this tendency over their six millennia friendship.  As much as he loved Crowley, he had to admit that his dear friend was not exactly perfect, nor were they on the same page about many things. </p>
<p>          <em>Opposites attract</em>, he supposed.  “I have noticed your tendency to act impulsively over the centuries, yes.  And your emotional swings are rather mercurial at times.”</p>
<p>          “While <em>you</em> overthink everything, and fuss and fret too much, and as for emotional swings—well, sometimes it takes an impending apocalypse to get you to raise your voice.”</p>
<p>          “I don’t care for the way you <em>assume</em> I’ll cave on any issue if you apologize enough after you’ve done something wrong.”</p>
<p>          “And I don’t care for the way <em>you</em> assume that I’ll give in to any demand if you pout while raising your eyebrows long enough.”</p>
<p>          “You play your bebop music too loudly,” Aziraphale said. </p>
<p>          “Your classical music records sound scratchy on that gramophone.  It hurts my ears.”</p>
<p>          “I found one of your socks under the dining table.”</p>
<p>          “You rearranged all of my jackets and shirts without asking first.  And you <em>folded my underwear</em>.”</p>
<p>          “Last Friday I caught you yelling at the oregano plants in the garden again, after I expressly asked you not to.”</p>
<p>          “And you overwatered my houseplants, and they nearly died!”</p>
<p>          “You left hair in the shower drain again this morning!”</p>
<p>          “I did?”  Crowley, now sitting bolt upright on the edge of the chaise, looked abashed.  “Thought I snapped it away.  Sorry.”</p>
<p>          Aziraphale nearly said something about how he needn’t bother apologizing after the fact when he noticed Crowley’s genuine dismay.  “Oh.  Well, all right, then.”</p>
<p>          Crowley shuddered.  “Hair in the drain is <em>disgusting</em>.”</p>
<p>          “You’re not being facetious, are you?”</p>
<p>          “What?”  Crowley frowned.  “No.  I’m not.  It <em>is</em> disgusting.  I always try to clean up the shower for you after I’ve finished.  Don’t know what I was thinking.” </p>
<p>          “Thank you.”  He really did sound sincere.  Of all the ridiculous things over which they’d been arguing to focus on—hair in the drain.  “Perhaps I overreacted a bit just then.”</p>
<p>          “Yeah, you did.”</p>
<p>          “Sorry.”  Aziraphale rose to cross over to the chaise, and he sat down beside his dearest friend in all the world.  “Living together can be a tad messy and confusing.”  He rested a hand on Crowley’s thigh.  “We’ve had so little practice at it yet.”</p>
<p>          “Angel, you <em>folded</em> my <em>underwear</em>.”</p>
<p>          “Sorry.”</p>
<p>          “Yeah, okay.”  Crowley kissed the top of Aziraphale’s head.  “I’m sorry I left the sock under the dining table.”</p>
<p>          “That’s all right.”  Aziraphale felt a wave of affection.  “At least it was a <em>clean</em> sock.”  Small mercies.  He started to stroke Crowley’s thigh. </p>
<p>          “You know, <em>humans</em> somehow manage to live together, without even using miracles.  You’d think <em>we</em> could do as well as they do.”</p>
<p>          Aziraphale looked round the room.  “I do have one idea.”</p>
<p>          “Hm?”  Crowley had leaned in to kiss his earlobe, and then he started a trail of kisses along Aziraphale’s neck.</p>
<p>          “Please listen for a moment, dear.”</p>
<p>          “Why?”  But Crowley pulled away.</p>
<p>          “Because I have an idea that may help.  This room is full of <em>my</em> things—the books, the desk, the rug.  It feels as if it is <em>my</em> personal space, which is why I got upset about the crumbs.  So why don’t we add another room on?  One that can be mostly <em>your</em> personal space—you could put your music system in there, and that enormous television, and some of your souvenirs that are cluttering up the loft.  All I’d want is a chaise or armchair to relax in when I come to visit you there, as you do here.”</p>
<p>          Crowley pursed his lips.  “Huh.  That might actually work.”</p>
<p>          “You could even leave socks lying around in your room, should you wish to.”</p>
<p>          “Can I keep my underwear in there, unfolded?”</p>
<p>          “Whatever you like.”  Aziraphale patted his thigh.  “Just—do please keep them out of sight.”</p>
<p>          “<em>Fussy</em>.”</p>
<p>          “<em>Well-mannered</em>,” Aziraphale countered.</p>
<p>          “Yeah, you are.” Crowley smiled as he ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair.  “I like that about you.  Most of the time, anyway.”</p>
<p>          “And I do love the way you revel in your emotions, dear boy.”  He might not want to <em>have</em> such strong, seesaw emotions himself, but he often found them, when displayed by Crowley, to be rather exciting.</p>
<p>          “I’m about to revel in my favorite emotion.”  Crowley pulled him into an embrace, and then kissed him most thoroughly.</p>
<p>          Aziraphale allowed himself to be swept along in the headiness of that love, flooded with warmth and longing. </p>
<p>          <em>This</em>, he thought as he returned the kiss with another, even deeper one, <em>is where all our petty differences vanish in an ocean of affection.</em></p>
<p>          Quite a few hours later, as he was straightening up here and there around the cottage prior to retiring to the bedroom for the night, Aziraphale stepped into the library, looked at his desktop, and realized with a start of guilt that he’d left his half-drunk cup of cocoa sitting there.</p>
<p>          So untidy. <em>For shame</em>.</p>
<p>          “Well,” he murmured to himself in a slightly fretful fashion, “I got <em>distracted</em>.”</p>
<p>          Then he smiled as he snapped his fingers to miracle it clean, and return it to its proper place in the kitchen.</p>
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